Going It Alone
by teacandles
Summary: No one should have to handle something like this alone.


Author's notes: Hmm, felt like cross-posting this from my LJ. I wasn't sure if I wanted to put this one up here, but re-read it tonight and thought people here might like it. I dunno. It was inspired by a prompt on the angst_meme (I love it there), where the prompter wanted to see what the lives of the New Directions kids would be like if Rachel had gone to Carmel instead of McKinley. I went in kind of a different, darker direction than what they were looking for. I dunno. T'was something to do during down-time at work and not look like I'm completely slacking off.

* * *

They had an assembly today. It had been announced in the middle of first period. Attendance was mandatory, no exceptions. Rumor had it that it was on bullying or teen violence or something. Whatever. They all knew what this was really about: that Kurt kid. From that neighboring school. His name and face had been plastered all over the news.

It was all really very sad. He was only sixteen. Far too young.

You couldn't turn on the television now without seeing pictures of his smiling face or footage of his grieving father. That was sad too-the man had lost his wife to cancer only to lose his son a few years later to some drunken teens reenacting a hate crime they'd read about in class.

It was all really tragic, but not entirely unexpected. You think it'll never happen to your town. Things like that don't happen. Not here. Sure, judging by the photos, the kid had been as queer as a three dollar bill, and those types weren't exactly welcome around here (she knew this all too well; just ask either of her dads), but you at least think it's safe. No one would ever try to do something so horrible. Not here. But then there's the body of some kid found beaten and bloody, tied to a fence, and really looking nothing at all like the smiling boy in the news photos, three kids in custody, two others being questioned, another on the run, and a town left in shock, bombarded by flocks of cameras and reporters all hoping to get the latest on the Lima hate crime. Just like Laramie, Wyoming a decade ago. Maybe it had something to do with the L in the name.

And then there was the assembly and heated talks behind closed doors of moving at home, and she wishes it was fourth period already so that she could run into Jesse's arms and they could get this over with. He would hold her and comfort her and tell everything was okay. But it wasn't okay, was it?

She could see it everywhere, how this whole mess was dividing her little town in two. She could see it in the eyes of people on the street, in the cold, staring faces of the three mug shots glaring at her from every magazine, every newspaper, every television set. You couldn't escape the news. Not when it was happening all around you.

She could see it in her fathers' worried glances and how they never held hands anymore. She could see it in the faces and bodies of all those shocked, grieving teenagers whenever she drove by William McKinley High School on her way home, and she wondered how many students there were now the friends of a dead boy, how many were now the friends of a murderer.

The gymnasium was buzzing with activity when she stepped onto the bleachers. She could see Jesse somewhere in the middle, chatting with a few other members of Vocal Adrenaline. She was so grateful to have them, to have glee, in her life. Those kids were like family, and Ms. Corcoran was a wonderful teacher and mentor. She pushed them hard, and they were winners. A whole family of winners where her talent was appreciated.

When she reached him, Jesse pulled her in close and held her hand in his. He knew how badly this whole mess was affecting her.

A police officer came and addressed them-it was the usual spiel on bullying and reporting violence. Nothing special. Until the large black girl whom Rachel didn't recognize rose from her seat against the wall and joined the officer and administrators in the middle of the gym floor. Rachel couldn't see her face all that well, but she looked shaky, tired. But she gripped the microphone they gave her with a determination that Rachel had never seen before.

"Hi," the girl began. "My name is Mercedes Jones. I'm a student over at William McKinley."

The room went dead silent. Jesse gripped her hand a little tighter and she squeezed back, shooting him a strained smile, before turning her attention back to the girl with the microphone.

"I'm sure you all know what happened. I mean, it's all over the news and everything. You can't turn on the TV anymore without it being blasted in your face. Since it's everywhere, I won't go into detail about what happened, and I know that because you can't escape it, it's kind of hard to see any of those kids as people any more. But they were. They are."

One of the administrators was holding what looked like a poster, but he'd had it turned around, like a big white sheet, until now. It was a picture of the dead boy, Kurt, but it wasn't one she recognized from the news. It was a casual shot of him and his dad just inside an auto repair shop. She vaguely remembered hearing something about cars in one of the reports. The pair was dirty and greasy and smiling like they didn't have a care in the world. They looked so happy. It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking.

"Kurt Hummel was a friend of mine. I don't have many friends, and neither did Kurt when he was alive. Kurt was kind of an odd bird. You might not have liked him, but you couldn't help but notice him." She laughed a little into the mic, but the sound resonated with such sadness that Rachel wanted to cry. "We met at his dad's shop. My car had broken down, and he'd been asked to work on it. He talked to me after he finished and they cut me a deal. We were fast friends after that."

She paused for a moment and breathed. The gym was still silent as the grave. When she spoke again, her voice was a little choked, though no tears were present. "Kurt was just one of those guys, you know? He liked fashion and cars and music. We used to sing a lot together, though he never joined the choir. I think he was afraid of the director. He said-" she paused, unable to speak for a moment. "He always said he was going to get out of here. Make it big in New York. He probably could have made it. I think he would have made it."

Rachel's gut twisted painfully at that. He'd been a fellow dreamer. "I know the guys charged with his death, too. They aren't bad guys, really, but they picked on Kurt a lot. He used to get tossed into dumpsters and have slushies thrown in his face every day. It's kind of common, actually; I've had my fair share of slushies to the face. But nobody ever said anything because it was an everyday occurrence. It happened to all of the unpopular kids. No one ever thought it would escalate. No one ever thought Mr. Hummel would have to bury his son too." She looked up at all of them, and Rachel could swear that their eyes met for just a second.

"So please, if you see anybody getting pushed around or if it's you who's getting bullied, _tell somebody. _You have to take this seriously before it's too late. I don't want Kurt to have died for nothing. He…he always loved the spotlight, and I can't let him become another statistic. So please, tell somebody."

They led her away and finished up the assembly. Rachel couldn't move. She was still staring at the photo of Mr. Hummel and his son. She thought of her dad, her poppa, and how broken they would be if she were gone. And they still had each other. Mr. Hummel was all alone. She didn't think she could handle something like this alone.

"Come on, Rach. The assembly's over." Jesse was tugging her hand. "It's time for lunch."

She let go of his hand and gave him a little smile. "I'll meet you in the commons, okay? This won't take me very long."

He nodded and let her go. She waited for the rush of students to ebb before making her way to the floor. The black girl, Mercedes, was sitting off to the side, back in her fold-up chair against the wall. The officer and administrators were talking to one another. The girl looked horribly lost and alone. No one should handle something like this alone. Rachel approached her, pulling a pack of tissues from one of the pockets of her bag. The girl looked up when she saw Rachel standing before her, her face scrunched and tight with confusion, her eyes wet with tears. Rachel held out the tissues and smiled sadly.

"Hi. My name is Rachel Berry. You looked like you could use one of these."


End file.
